Neither could Cultus. A little later on he talked with Oscar, the bartender, and Oscar told him about the eggs.
“What kind of pants did young Marsh have on?” asked Cultus.
“Kinda pale blue, I reckon. What do yuh reckon he done with ’em?”
Cultus didn’t know, but he wished he did.
“Sa-a-ay!” blurted Oscar. “I seen Terry Ione wearin’ the identical colour suit. By golly, he shore was. Pale blue.”
“Did Marsh’s coat and vest match his pants?”
“He didn’t have no coat. No, by golly, he didn’t have anythin’ on to match them pants. They was brand new. I ’member them creases down the front. Ain’t it funny how yuh remember things like that? Huh? That egg shore made a mess of ’em. You say there’s a warrant out for Blaze Nolan? Kendall Marsh, eh? Hope they don’t git him.”
The bank was closed, as far as business was concerned, of course, but John Freeman entertained the curious who went in to look at the smashed safe. Cultus went in and looked it over. It was not the work of a professional safe blower, although the job had been thoroughly done.
Cultus walked around the rear of the bank and through the alley, but if there had been any evidence, the crowd had obliterated it thoroughly. Freeman had made a fairly close check of the books, and stated that little, if any money, had been taken, and that the papers were only valuable to the bank itself.
The forenoon passed without any sign of the sheriff or Blaze Nolan, and Bad News opined that Blaze had taken to the hills, with the sheriff after him. It was a little after the noon hour, when Ole Olsen rode in from the Bar Anchor, and found Cultus and Bad News eating dinner at the Chinese restaurant.